


Five Things the Avengers Caught Tony Stark Trying to Put in His Ass

by thingswithwings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Also Did I Mention Tony Stark's Ass, BDSM, Consensual Non-Consent, Cuddling, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/F, F/M, Gangbang, Gen, Gross Tiny Alien Bug Things (mostly offscreen), Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mjolnir: Sex Toy, Multi, Natasha Feels, OT8, Orgy, Pegging, Science Bros, Sex Toys, Size Kink, Steve is a good leader, Team Bonding, Team Bonding Via Gangbang, Team Feels, Tony Stark's Ass, Verbal Humiliation, formal wear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This isn't what it looks like," Tony says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things the Avengers Caught Tony Stark Trying to Put in His Ass

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is meant as a companion to my fic [Five Ways To Get In Touch with Your Inner Mild-Mannered Scientist](http://archiveofourown.org/works/429749) and Aria's beautiful fic [Flying Monkeys, Or, Five Times Thor Engaged in Cultural Exchange](http://archiveofourown.org/works/439454). Basically, we decided that each Avenger should get their own Five Things fic, in which the fifth thing was an orgy. Why not? So here's the one I wrote for Tony.
> 
> Thanks to Toft, who initially suggested the concept and the title, and to Eruthros and Sabinetzin, for betaing. Thanks friends!

**1\. Mjolnir**

Thor is told, not long after meeting him, that Tony Stark used to design weapons. This does not come as much of a surprise to Thor, since Tony has been eyeing Mjolnir covetously since he first faced the hammer in battle. During a quiet moment on the helicarrier, when they were waiting for the Midgardian science to detect the tesseract, Tony actually emerged from his lab and strolled over to Thor casually, his gaze fixed on Thor's waist.

Without even asking, he ran his index finger over the face of the hammer, which was hanging at Thor's belt. Thor frowned, confused.

"So how's this thing work, then, magic?" The way he said _magic_ was strange to Thor. It was the way one would speak of a mythical beast.

"If you like," Thor replied, catching Tony's wrist in his hand and pulling it away from Mjolnir. Tony looked up and met his eyes. "Asgardian science is, I believe, beyond Earth understanding, and so you call it magic."

If Thor had known then what he came to know later, if he had known Tony as well as he would after fighting beside him in countless battles and sitting beside him at countless meals, after bleeding and laughing and drinking with him – if Thor had known Tony, he would have known better than to say that. At the time, however, he had mistaken Tony's reaction to Thor's statement for arrogance, mistaken the gleam in Tony's eye for a reaction to an imagined slight.

"I am sorry, I meant no disrespect," Thor had hastily added. "Only that I do not think Mjolnir can be explained in terms that will make sense to you."

"Uh huh," Tony said, and though his hand was unmoving and acquiescent in Thor's grip Thor somehow could sense that he wanted to touch again; that if Thor let go, Tony's hand would fly straight back to press against the cool metal in an echo of the manner in which the hammer flew, when called, to meet Thor's grip.

Just then Bruce stepped out from their workshop and raised an eyebrow at Tony. 

"We're ready for the next sweep," he said, apparently choosing not to remark on the odd position he found them in, standing close together, Thor still holding Tony's wrist.

"Of course," Tony agreed, looking into Thor's eyes appraisingly. Thor had been appraised by bigger men than Tony Stark, and so he just smiled, amused.

Tony had returned to his lab and never mentioned it again during their subsequent battle, and so Thor thought the issue had been resolved.

After the battle, after Loki's capture and his return to Asgard for imprisonment, after Thor had discharged his duties there and returned to Midgard again – that is when the intense questioning starts.

"So you channel the lightning _how_ , exactly? Is there a particular command you do, a motion you make to activate it?"

"And it imparts how much force to its target? If it can knock over the Hulk, even temporarily, but can't break Steve's shield . . . "

"So, what, it's just movable under some circumstances and immovable under others?" This last one leads to even more frustration and disbelief on Tony's part when he learns that there had been a time when even Thor himself had not been able to lift the hammer.

"I was unworthy," Thor explains gravely. "It does not select for my – my DNA, as you call it, but rather for my strength of spirit. My father's way of ensuring that the weapon is never wielded by one unfit to do so."

Tony blinks twice, mouth falling open, and there it is again, that gleam in his eye that Thor spotted when Tony first ran his finger over the hammer's perfect gleaming face.

"Worthy," he says, after a moment, with a sneer. "You know, we should find a way to program that into Earth weapons."

"I have often had this thought myself, yes. Was it not this same compulsion toward the moral deployment of weapons that led you to become the Iron Man?"

At this, Tony's eyes shutter, and he turns away; knowing Tony now better than he did before, Thor stops him with a hand on his arm.

"Yeah, well, my dad didn't really think about power the same way yours did. On Earth we pretty much just acquire it."

"Tony," Thor says slowly, "you have proven yourself worthy on many occasions, and I am honored to fight by your side. You use your power to improve Midgard and protect the innocent."

Tony's eyebrow quirks, and he sighs. "Still can't lift that morality-detecting superhammer of yours, though, can I?"

"I have yet to learn of anyone, other than myself, who can."

The experiments go on; Thor allows Tony to test Mjolnir in every way he can dream up, and Tony continues to display, alternately, frustration and fascination as he fails to understand it. Thor tries to explain, where he can – he is not an expert in the craft of the Dwarves himself – but he still truly believes what he told Tony that first day: that it is beyond the understanding of Midgardian science.

Eventually, Tony declares himself done with the project, and Thor, cautiously, breathes a sigh of relief, thinking that perhaps Tony could turn his time and attention to more productive and more rewarding matters. 

One afternoon, as he enjoys a film in the common area of Stark Tower with Jane and Steve, he begins to feel an . . . itch, at the back of his mind, a sense of something not quite right. It takes him a moment to place the feeling, so unexpected is it in this particular setting: it's the odd, singular sensation that he most often feels during battle, when someone other than him is attempting to pick up his hammer. Ever since Mjolnir came back to him again in that small town in New Mexico, he's been more deeply connected to it, via the strange magic that his father had placed upon it. Whenever a foe tries to lift it, the hammer sings in his mind, like a warning.

When the Hulk had tried to lift it, all that time ago, Mjolnir had screamed; now, however, the feeling is no more than a light tickle in the back of his mind. Whoever's trying to move the hammer cannot be trying very hard.

He could call it to him, of course, but this does not seem to be much of an emergency, and he knows that the Lady Pepper would be upset if he once again brought Mjolnir forth through all of the walls of the tower. So he excuses himself to his companions and goes to seek it out, following the strange ticklish feeling back to his own quarters, to the low table where he had left the hammer after their battle the day before.

Thor has lived for thousands of years, but if there's one thing he's learned while on Midgard, it's that he's very capable of being surprised.

As he walks into the room, Tony freezes in place, eyes going wide like prey caught in the sights of its predator. He's naked – Thor sees his clothes, thrown haphazardly onto the floor a short distance away – and hard, his cock straining against his belly. As always, Thor finds his friend's bare form pleasing; despite the fact that his power is in his technology, Tony keeps his body strong and muscled. 

But undoubtedly the most interesting part of the tableau is the fact that Tony has impaled himself on Mjolnir's handle and is fucking himself back and forth on it. Thor is more than familiar with the length of that handle, and can tell that an impressive amount of it is already inside Tony's ass.

"This isn't what it looks like," Tony says. Thor allows himself a moment to absorb this blatant lie, then walks slowly over to the armchair and sits down.

"It looks like you're using the handle of my hammer to pleasure yourself like a wanton slut," he says.

Tony groans, and Thor can't help but notice that being caught has not made him any less hard; Thor could've guessed that he was the kind to find pleasure in being watched.

"Thor," Tony says, his voice strangely normal in comparison to his glistening, flushed skin and the glassy look in his eyes. "I – this is uncool of me, I get that, probably shouldn't have followed this particular impulse, but, but – "

"Are you really about to ask me if you can finish what you started?" Thor wants to laugh; it's the most Tony Stark-like thing he has ever observed Tony Stark doing, and Thor has been his friend and comrade for many months now.

Tony's eyes shutter closed, and his mouth drops open, and – completely shameless – he shifts and pushes his body back further, taking another inch of the hammer inside himself. Thor feels again the little tickle in his mind that tells him someone is touching the hammer, and he quirks his lips.

"If it's not, not too much trouble," Tony says flippantly. Thor does laugh, then, delighted as he often is by Tony's sheer audaciousness.

"Does the Lady Pepper not object to you finding pleasure with another man's hammer?" he asks, still laughing. 

"Interesting question," Tony pants, working himself back and forth. It is a beautiful sight, and Thor does not hesitate to take it in. "I'm allowed to have sex with other people. And I'm allowed to use sex toys. So I figure Mjolnir – ah, ah, oh god – has to fall somewhere in one of those, those, uh. Categories."

Tony's hair is stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat. The table on which Thor left Mjolnir is a little too high for Tony's purpose, so he has to keep angling himself upwards to meet the hammer's position. It is obviously a strain on his body.

"You know I could call the hammer to me at any time," Thor says, taking a guess that gets confirmed by Tony's involuntary whine, by the way he squirms again on the unyielding handle.

"Part of the attraction, honestly," Tony manages, after a moment. 

"I wonder what would happen if I did so now. Whether you would come along with it like a spitted pig." He watches in fascination as Tony's cock leaks copiously against his belly. "Perhaps I should try it, to punish you for taking such liberties. But then, I am not sure it would be much of a punishment."

Tony cries out, inarticulate. Thor has never before seen him at a loss for words, and the sight of it is beautiful, arousing. He can resist no longer: he reaches out with his mind and, slowly, with the gentlest touch he can manage, urges the hammer to nudge forward and back within Tony's body.

"Ahhhh oh _fuck_ – " Tony cries. His eyes have snapped open and fixed on Thor. Thor, drawn in by his gaze, eases down out of his chair to kneel on the floor in front of Tony. 

"Can you feel me move it within you?" he asks, though he knows that of course Tony can. 

Tony nods anyway, eager as a dog to please its master. 

"That is the force that is beyond you, Tony. The force that you cannot move, the magic that you cannot understand." He rotates hammer, pushes it back and forth, uses it to fuck Tony's ass in a hard rhythm. He speeds up slowly, until the strokes become fast, powerful, brutal.

"This is something you will never touch," Thor murmurs, and watches as Tony's head hangs down, his body begins to tremble, and he comes all over himself.

"Jesus, jesus, jesus, fuck, Thor, jesus christ," Tony pants, when he opens his eyes again.

Thor stands. "Take yourself off of my hammer, Tony," he says, sternly, but not without compassion. Tony crawls forward, sliding himself free, and Thor is impressed, once again, by how deeply Tony was able to take it. He collapses to the floor, obviously sore and exhausted.

"Thanks buddy," he manages, still flippant, even now. "That was nice of you."

"Don't let it happen again," Thor frowns at Mjolnir's handle, shining with lubricant. "And I expect you to clean up in here. There's a kettle for boiling water in the kitchen, and conditioners for the wood and leather in the table drawer."

"Sure thing," Tony agrees, rolling slowly up again and levering himself up. Thor reaches down, offering Tony his arm, and Tony looks at him with surprise before taking it and allowing Thor to lift him to his feet.

"And Tony?" Tony cocks his head, listening. It's a look that suits him, Thor thinks.

"Yeah?"

"Next time you need to be fucked by an otherworldly weapon of unimaginable power . . . " Thor is unable to keep himself from grinning.

Tony pushes him away by the shoulders, remarkably self-possessed for a naked, come-splattered man who has just fucked himself wild on his comrade's weapon. "Shut up," he says, and Thor is surprised once again, this time by the pink of a blush that spreads across Tony's face.

After that, Thor is careful to keep Mjolnir in a box. Such activity is really not good for the leather.

 

**2\. gallium arsenide integrated circuits**

Bruce can't deny that he's always been interested in the Iron Man suits, and it's not like he's had access to a lot of good information on them before now. The media coverage on them typically just talks about Tony Stark, with plenty of shots of him smiling and waving while wearing ridiculously expensive sunglasses, which does absolutely nothing to assuage Bruce's curiosity. The scientific coverage – what little there is of it – talks almost exclusively about the purely mechanical innovations: the repulsors, the arc reactor. What little is known about the repulsors or the arc reactor, and isn't protected by Tony's patents, that is. So when Bruce suddenly and unexpectedly becomes Tony's Stark's acquaintance, and then colleague, and then fellow Avenger, and then friend, and then permanent lab partner (all within about a week), he can't help but ask all the questions he's wondered about for years, about the components that he finds fascinating: the places where Tony has casually, offhandedly, revolutionized every single aspect of biomechanics.

The suit's heads-up display tracks the motion of Tony's eyes and accepts blinking as a form of input; it extrapolates his muscle movements to the movements of the suit according to an incredibly complex algorithm dependent on the kind and context of the movement; it provides an automatic in-house SCUBA and pressurization/depressurization system for when he's underwater or in space, reacting to extremely fine changes in Tony's pulse, blood pressure, and level of consciousness. Tony's suit knows Tony's body well enough to climb on and off of it in seconds flat, without ever tearing through Tony's skin with a misplaced bit of metal. And while plenty of that stuff builds on existing technology, it's clear that Tony has taken it much, much further. 

It's beautiful, a perfect melding of physical body and complex machinery, and Bruce wants to know how it works.

Tony – miraculously – shows him. Just lays out the file directories in front of them, as though it's not tantamount to giving Bruce every secret he would need to destroy him.

"I trust you, big guy," Tony says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Have fun, play around."

Tony's trust is baffling, but Bruce doesn't let the incomprehensibility of the act get in the way of poring over every detail Tony gives him.

Bruce isn't a mechanical engineer, and he isn't a weapons manufacturer, and he knows very little about aeronautics, but nonetheless, the more he sees of Tony's blueprints, the more he itches to fiddle with them, make little adjustments or improvements. Tony knows so much about machines but so little, in fact, about his own brain and muscle and fat and skin and bones. So it starts off small: little ways to improve the suit's muscle movement tracking systems, increase efficiency, that kind of thing. Tony is overjoyed by his suggestions, and Bruce is satisfied to have given them; he considers it his rent money, an equal exchange for the privilege of living in Tony's home and using Tony's scientific resources for his own research.

But then it becomes something of a pet project. Whenever Bruce is tired or frustrated with his own work, he brings up Tony's latest suit schematics, looking for ways to contribute, to improve. He doesn't really pay attention to how many changes he's suggesting, just writes up his ideas in rambling, disconnected emails and sends them to Tony whenever he thinks about it.

"Bruce," Tony says seriously, barging into Bruce's lab one day, hands up like he's trying to stop Bruce from doing something terrible. "Bruce, it's too much, you're too much of a genius, I can't take it anymore."

Bruce puts down the goo he was poking. It's goo from their last mission, with the goo monster. It's pretty exciting.

"What?" he asks, once the goo is safely contained.

Tony throws himself down onto the couch in the corner of the lab – the couch that only exists so that Tony can come in, have a tantrum, and throw himself down on it dramatically – and sighs deeply.

"You have to stop making such beautiful things, Bruce. Bruce! Never stop making me beautiful things! But I can't make them all _fit_." Leaning forward, he buries his face in his hands, fake-sobbing, then scrubs his hands against his face, looks up, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees, dejected.

Bruce walks over to the couch. He sits down.

"Not enough room in your suit for the new stuff?"

"Not even when I built the whole thing out by an inch. An inch! Do you know how much volume that gives me?"

Bruce squints at him. Five eleven, about 190 soaking wet. Body surface area probably something like 2.058 square meters.

"A hundred and fifteen cubic feet," Bruce says. "But you'll lose some of that in, for example, the groin region. Around your fingers. Et cetera. What's it come out to, about eighty-five?"

Tony shakes his head, looking disgusted. "I hate your brain. And I love it. But I have nowhere left to put the technology it's given me, Bruce!"

"You've got a body cavity, don't you?" Bruce jokes. Beside him, Tony goes alarmingly still. 

"I do," he says slowly, and Bruce's eyes widen in horror as he realizes what he's created.

"That was a joke, Tony," he says, using his deepest and most serious voice. "Tony. Don't put the Iron Man suit in your body cavity."

"No no no, of course not, wouldn't dream of it," Tony says, already standing and wandering off. Bruce watches him go, helpless. He takes a moment to rub the heel of his hand against his forehead, just to try to stem the creeping headache that's beginning. He calls this particular headache "Tony."

"JARVIS, will you please notify me if Tony tries to put components of the Iron Man suit in his body cavity?" 

There's a pause, not very long but longer than usual for JARVIS. "Indeed, I believe that I can rationalize such an action within my overall function of caring for Mr Stark's health," JARVIS replies. "So long as he does not give me a direct order not to reveal such information."

"Set up an alert, then," Bruce sighs.

*

JARVIS activates the alert two days later, which means Tony took longer than Bruce would've guessed, to make the device, but far less time than Bruce had hoped.

Bruce had hoped that Tony would forget or lose interest, and that his alert would be activated roughly _never_.

But Bruce is no stranger to taking responsibility for the terrible monsters he's created through science, and this is only the latest one. So when JARVIS interrupts his nice, calm, grownup lunch with Steve and Pepper, Bruce puts down his sandwich with regret.

"Tony?" Pepper asks calmly, taking in the klaxons and red flashing lights that he set for the alert.

"Yes," Bruce sighs. "If you'll both excuse me."

"Call me if you need me," Pepper says, taking another bite of her lunch. Bruce wipes his mouth with his napkin, nods his agreement, and then stands and books it for the lab.

When Bruce bursts through the doors, Tony is kneeling up on a workbench, pants around his ankles, a dildo-shaped computer poised and just about to press into his asshole. It's already plugged in and lit up.

"JARVIS, you traitor," Tony hisses, when he sees Bruce. 

"I was following my primary function, sir," JARVIS replies mildly.

Tony starts pushing the thing into his ass. "You can't stop me, Banner, I'm leading the way into the future – "

Bruce strides over and takes the dildo-puter out of Tony's hands. Tony proceeds to try to wrestle him for it, but his tangled pants and underwear, combined with Bruce's total willingness to fight dirty, mean that he just ends up sliding slowly out of Bruce's grip to slump on the floor like a big bag of rice.

"What if something goes wrong with it, Tony," Bruce chides, holding the device up above his head so that Tony can't get to it from his sprawled, tangled spot on the floor. "What if someone electrocutes the suit, or – " he pauses, frowning. The dildo-puter in his hand is currently on, and it's pretty warm to the touch. "Wait, wait, you didn't even give it a proper heat sink? Are you planning on slow-roasting your intestines?"

Giving up on standing for the moment, Tony makes use of his current sprawl to pose, propping himself up on an elbow. "Well, maybe if I'd had a biologist of some kind to help me with the integration of these beautiful machines into my delicate human system . . . " he pouts.

Bruce rolls his eyes, trying not to pay attention to Tony's dick, balls, or anything in the dick-balls region. He's classier than Tony is, dammit. "Okay, okay," he says. "Let's say I did help you with that. Let's say I designed it so that it wouldn't _cook you from inside_. How are you even going to get it in?"

Tony raises an eyebrow at him, then darts his eyes meaningfully to the pump bottle of lube on the workbench.

"With delight?" he ventures.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. He holds up the dildo-puter to get a good look. It's not small.

"And on those occasions when you need your suit to be on you in three seconds flat?" Bruce asks, hefting the device in his hands for emphasis. Tony grimaces.

"I wanted to put a lot of stuff in there," he complains. "I couldn't get it any smaller."

"But, c'mon, if you need to be able to put your suit on in a hurry, you'd have to walk around constantly wearing a _buttplug_ or some . . . thing . . . " 

Tony's grin is pure joy. "Bruce! How are you so good at fixing the suit! That is a perfect solution." Suddenly industrious, Tony sticks his tongue between his teeth, lifts his hips, and shimmies back into his clothes. He jumps to his feet a moment later and takes Bruce's hand tenderly.

"If I promise to wear a buttplug all the time, will you design me some science to put in my ass?" he asks sweetly. Bruce stares at him. Tony's eyes are wide and hopeful.

"Seems like you should buy me dinner or something first," he mutters. 

But when he looks at the schematics for the dildo-puter, it turns out to be an interesting problem, and Bruce finds that he can't resist tinkering with it.

 

**3\. medical equipment**

Steve just wants a shower. The mission had taken far too long, involved far too many flamethrowers, and been far too creepy for him to have any resources left for anything, so after drinking a half gallon of milk and eating a couple of power bars, all he's thinking about is _shower shower shower_ and _bed bed bed_. He's pretty sure he's still got fried bug parts clinging to him, swept under the uniform at the edges and in the places where the bugs had torn through the material. Torn through the _kevlar_ , apparently. Steve shudders again just thinking about them and their skittering, burrowing bodies. Luckily, none of the Avengers had been affected, and the fire had pretty much taken care of the tiny monsters, but Steve won't mind ducking into one of Stark Tower's high-pressure-firehose hot showers, just to be sure that there are no bits left anywhere on him.

The door to the bathroom - one of the ones off of the communal area where they all tend to assemble - is open by a few inches. There's light behind the door, but Steve doesn't think anything of that. He pushes his way in, and immediately sees way more of Tony than he'd ever reckoned on seeing.

"Oh, Steve, thank God you're here," Tony sighs. Steve blinks, taking in the scene in front of him.

"Don't you mean 'dear God, Steve, give a man some privacy?'" he asks. "Please tell me you mean that instead."

Steve believes that everyone is entitled to their own pleasures and indulgences, so long as they don't harm anyone else, and he's not going to be the one to tell Tony that he shouldn't be kneeling on the cold bathroom tile, propped up in front of a complex system of mirrors, completely naked, reaching behind himself to open his asshole with both hands. That's Tony's right as an American, as far as Steve's concerned, and Steve will fight to protect it. But he might suggest that Tony start shutting the door.

Tony sort of falls forward onto his elbows, the dentist's mirror he was holding between his fingers clattering to the floor in front of him. 

"No, no, no, Steve, you have to help me." Tony says, pushing himself up to his knees and shuffling around to face Steve. Steve's only human, and can't resist a glance downwards, but to his surprise Tony's dick is soft and quiescent against his thigh. He's so used to assuming, with Tony, that everything is a sex thing, that it's actually really strange when it's not. 

Unless it is. Maybe he shouldn't jump to conclusions.

"Is this a sex thing?" he asks. Tony buries his face in his hands.

"No, it's not a _sex thing_ , Steve, I am so serious, okay, look." He licks his lips. "Look," he says again, "I have a thing about bugs. And the suit was compromised, only a little hole but big enough, and I . . . I just need to be sure. You can understand that, right Steve? I just need to check. But it's actually, as it turns out, actually really hard to see inside your own asshole using only common household items - "

"A dentist's mirror is a common household item?" Steve sighs, crouching down beside his friend. Now that he has the context, he can recognize the serious distress on Tony's features, in his body language. He's anxious, almost trembling, his face screwed up in a grimace. Steve feels pity wash through him. They all have their little idiosyncrasies, and no one ever says anything of it when Bruce disappears for a week at a time or when Clint moves into the vents for a little while. Steve himself had been grateful, just a month before, when everyone else had gone in front of him to fight that Frost Giant, keeping him back from the ice. It's a friend thing, but more than that, a teammate thing. An Avengers thing, and Steve wouldn't trade what he has with the Avengers for any money.

"It is in my house," Tony says, still all bravado. 

Steve smiles; he loves Tony a lot.

"Okay, then, soldier, on your hands and knees," he says. Tony's eyebrows go up, but his body goes down, shifting back down to the floor and presenting his ass to Steve.

"Do you have _any_ idea what you could make in porn, Steve, seriously, with lines like that – "

"Do you want my help or not?" Steve snaps, exasperated. He hates Tony a lot.

"I do, I do, thank you Steve, shutting up now."

Steve picks up the dentist's mirror and eyes it dubiously. "Well, you're going to have to tell me what to do."

"I just - just look inside and make sure there's nothing . . . hiding. In there." Steve continues to hesitate. After a long, awkwardly quiet moment, Tony adds, "There's lube on the floor."

"Right." Steve grabs it and doesn't waste time smearing it on his fingers. He figures that "look inside" also means "feel inside," but, to his surprise, the idea doesn't bother him. He has a teammate in distress, and it's his job to help. He's given Clint mouth to mouth, and one time he ripped off Natasha's shirt when she was shot, not even hesitating; he's carried Bruce's naked unconscious body more times than he can count, and been carried in turn, by Tony or Rhodey or Thor, when he was injured or knocked out or, after one particularly humiliating incident, subjected to an actual real-world love potion. 

It's all in the job description: being an Avenger means not really worrying about modesty or dignity where your teammates are concerned. When he thinks about it, this is nothing. This is what they do for each other.

He pushes his slick fingers into Tony's asshole, trying to be somewhat clinical about it. Tony hisses – Steve figures he should've warmed his fingers first - but doesn't move, and doesn't say anything, just holds still and trusts Steve.

"Well, I don't feel anything yet," Steve says, after he's poked around a bit. He nudges what he's pretty sure is Tony's prostate, and Tony does his best to bite back a gasp, but neither of them comments on it. As he rubs his fingers carefully against the insides of Tony's body, he's acutely aware of the quiet in the cavernous bathroom, the way each soft little hitch in their breathing is picked up and magnified, the way he can hear the slick wet sound of his fingers where they push inside.

Tony's breathing begins to slow down.

"Are you – is this – " Steve says, not sure how to ask.

"You're doing good," Tony says, but he sounds a little strained. "It's fine."

Steve keeps going, careful to be thorough, rubbing as deep as he can and pressing firmly against Tony's inner walls. As he does it, Tony opens up, gets less tight, accepting the intrusion. When Tony shifts slightly on his knees, as if in anxiety, Steve puts a hand on his hip without thinking, holds him still and tries to soothe him.

"Can you use the speculum?" Tony asks, after a while. "Get me – Steve, just, if you don't mind? Get me open a little further. Make sure. I don't – I can't deal with the idea of them inside – "

"Okay," Steve says softly, placing his clean hand on Tony's lower back soothingly. He finds the requisite tool on the floor nearby, on top of Tony's bundled up and obviously hastily-shed flight suit. He didn't even close the door, Steve thinks. "It's okay. We'll make sure. I've got you."

Tony doesn't say anything, but he lets out a slow, shuddering breath. Steve rubs his hip again, gentle strokes, the way he'd pet a panicking animal. Even from this angle he can see Tony's eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he can hear his breathing speeding up, getting a little ragged. Steve bites his lip as he inserts the speculum, trying to think of a way to calm him down again.

"But the speculum is a sex thing, right? You don't actually have this lying around the house for this purpose."

Tony, always most comfortable around sexual innuendo, huffs out a laugh. "You better believe it's a sex thing, Cap. Why, you wanna try it out sometime?"

As risqué talk goes, it's not Tony's best, but it does seem to steady him a little. He chuckles, playing along as he spreads Tony open further. He can see his insides, now, delicate and pink, soft-looking. Steve is struck by the softness of him, how soft and fragile he is inside despite the hard coating he covers himself in all the time. 

"After I've seen where it's been? No thanks," Steve replies tartly. Tony steadies at the banter. Steve puts his fingers back into Tony's body, carefully but without trepidation this time, and explores further. Tony hisses a breath or two through his teeth, but Steve can't guess at the sensation or the emotion that it represents.

"You all right?" he asks.

"Fine, great," Tony says shortly. "Flashlight's there on the floor if you want it."

"Thanks," Steve says. In the light Tony is even more exposed, his insides on display for Steve. Without thinking much about it, he hunches down until he's eye to eye, so to speak, peering into Tony from up close. Gently, Steve prods at the folds of Tony's large intestine, searching out any interlopers who might be hiding there.

"Well?" Tony asks, after a while. Steve pushes in again with his fingers, mindful of the speculum's arms, taking one last lay of the land.

"There's nothing," he reports. "You're fine, I promise." He closes the speculum and eases it out of Tony, but can't fail to notice the way that Tony's asshole stays open anyway, as if eager for something else to fill it. Steve feels an extremely strange sort of fondness.

"Thank God," Tony breathes. 

Smiling, Steve leans down and places a kiss on Tony's left cheek, quick and loud. Tony glances back over his shoulder, clearly surprised. Steve smiles and follows up with a light smack on the ass, in the same spot, and Tony breathes out a laugh. Steve laughs too, because there's something both ridiculous and delightfully intimate about the experience, and because he's glad, in a way, that he shared it with Tony.

"Get your clothes on and come have dinner with us, ok?" Steve figures he can postpone his nap a little longer. He and Tony both stand, leaning on one another as they do. Tony takes a deep breath, seeming to steady himself. Steve is glad to see that his anxiety is fading, and proud of the trust that it implies.

"Sure. Thanks, Steve." Steve shrugs. "I mean it. Thank you. You didn't even laugh."

Casually, Steve peels off his uniform, a piece at a time, as he walks towards the shower area set into the back wall of the bathroom. "Nothing to laugh about," he says, when he's naked, and steps into the spray.

"Hey, Tony?" he calls, a moment later, as he sees Tony gathering his stuff.

"Yeah?" 

"Don't forget to shut the door on the way out."

 

**4\. classified government secrets**

It looks a lot like a standard fancy high-society party, and the food is definitely fancy high-society-party-ish (as far as Clint can tell), but the array of body scanners, metal detectors, heat sensors, and other assorted equipment at the door makes it very, very clear that it's a lot more than that. Clint doubts that theirs is the only clandestine deal going on tonight, though they're probably the only ones here actively trying to rob the host. He tries hard not to fidget or sweat in his tuxedo and stares at the buffet table in forlorn confusion while Tony does his stupid schmoozing thing and they wait for their contact to make herself known.

"Well, you look uncomfortable," Tony says, when he finishes talking to some fellow corporate dickhead and heads back over to where Clint's standing.

"Yeah, I can't say that I'm really cut out for this work," he replies. "Mostly I shoot things."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that much is obvious. What I meant was, you _look_ uncomfortable. People, when looking at you, will notice that you are uncomfortable. I'm supposed to be drawing attention. You're supposed to be blending in."

Clint fidgets. Surely shoes are not supposed to feel like this on your feet. "Well, I'm doing the best I can," he hisses. "I don't even know who half these people are."

"Was every other SHIELD agent busy or something? How did I get stuck with you?"

"Natasha's in Brasília." Clint frowns. "Or possibly Bratislava?"

"Could be in Brazzaville," Tony supplies.

"Whatever, and none of the other SHIELD agents like you."

"Natasha likes me?"

"The point is, I'm here, I was the one who could do it, so you're just gonna have to deal."

Tony makes a face of profound dissatisfaction that probably gets him a lot of things in his life.

"Well, can you at least try not to slouch? That's a nine thousand dollar Brioni tuxedo and you're wearing it like a t-shirt." At Clint's impassive frown, he rolls his eyes again. "Please? Can you work with me here? Shoulders back, tie straight, and for god's sake get your hands out of your pockets."

Clint follows along, sighing. Tony manages to unobtrusively straighten the line of his jacket so that it falls better, and stops pulling at his arms so much. Clint shifts his shoulders doubtfully. He's used to going sleeveless, and this is a lot more constricting.

"All right, that'll have to do, I guess," Tony says.

"Hey," Clint protests weakly. 

"I'm serious, I've never met a guy as built as you who looked this bad in formal wear. It's like a special skill."

"I think there might have been a compliment on my good looks in there somewhere," Clint says, "and so I will choose to focus on that."

"Whatever tunes your engine, pumpkin. Let me know if you hear from our contact first, okay?"

"What, and cut this incredibly enjoyable time of ours short?" 

Then Tony's off again, talking to some _other_ fellow corporate dickbag, and Clint tries to remember stuff Natasha's told him about blending in. To keep from fidgeting he picks up a flute of champagne, and, keeping his other hand firmly out of his pocket, strolls casually around the edges of the party. To his profound relief, it's only about fifteen minutes later when a woman in a stunning blue dress – Agent Barrett, he presumes – walks over to him and says the code phrase.

"You must be Sylvia's friend, from Gorman-Haverford." 

Clint nods cautiously. "You're the one who gave her the tip about Oscorp, right?" he replies. 

Smiling, Barrett holds out her hand. When Clint shakes it, she passes him a little USB stick; he palms it expertly and tucks it away. It gives him a satisfied feeling. Normally he just shoots things, or watches things, but now he's very aware of the gigabytes of documentation on gross and illegal actions hidden in his coat sleeve. Barrett did the hard work of liberating it from their host's computers; now all Clint has to do is smuggle it back to SHIELD. 

"I'm really glad to meet you. You should come by for drinks sometime, Sylvia's always putting on little parties." Clint has to stop himself from frowning, because _come by for drinks_ is the code phrase for _they know we've taken the documents_ , and it pretty much guarantees that they're not going to be able to smuggle anything that looks like a data storage device out of the party. They hadn't even let them bring in their phones.

"I'd love to," he says. "I should be back in town again next month."

"Perhaps we'll see you then," she says, and shakes his hand again. To Clint's dismay, she palms him another drive. 

"Looking forward to it," Clint says, dry-mouthed. She gives him a little grimace, aware of the situation she's placed him in, and he offers the tiniest shrug back. _What're you gonna do._

Agent Barrett goes off to fulfill her mission requirements, which include, as far as Clint understands, appearing to get really drunk and removing herself from any potential suspicion. He wishes that were his mission objective right now. 

He taps Tony on the shoulder as he walks by, and Tony makes his excuses to the large gathering of people fawning around him and follows.

"Contact, success, but we're not going to be able to take the data out in our pockets," he says. "This place is locked down tight and now they're on the lookout for someone trying to get stuff out."

"Damn," Tony says mildly. "So what's our next move, superspy?"

"Our next move is, you keep legitimizing our presence here, and I take myself off to the bathroom for a little while."

Tony raises an eyebrow, then glances suddenly over Clint's shoulder. "Oh, shit, there's a security guy coming this way. Quick, give me the drive." 

Clint moves quickly, dropping the two drives into Tony's pocket and covering the move smoothly. His old sleight-of-hand circus tricks aren't so out of place here after all, as it turns out. 

He glances surreptitiously over his shoulder, and frowns when he doesn't see anyone coming.

"Hey, Tony, are you sure – " when he turns back, of course, Tony is gone.

What a dick.

*

He finds Tony five minutes later in the men's bathroom, his shoes the only ones showing at the bottom of the stalls. Clint checks all the other stalls, just to be sure, and the ceiling, and the unopenable plexiglass window, and everywhere else he can think of, for agents and for bugs. When he gets to Tony's stall and opens the door, Tony is already crouching unattractively and shoving a USB stick up his ass.

"Wow, you work fast," Clint says.

"Do you want to give me a little _privacy_ , Clint?" Tony hisses. "I'm saving the world in here."

"This is a mid-level operation at most, so not really the _world_ ," Clint drawls. "Is there a reason you're putting them in your ass?"

Tony stares at him. "What the hell were you going to do with them?"

"I was going to swallow them!"

"Do you have any idea what stomach acid does to solid state memory drives?"

Clint thinks about it. "No. Do you?" Clint once ran a USB stick through his washer and dryer, though, and it'd come out no worse for wear.

"What am I, Bruce? I don't know. But it can't be good! And anyway, I've got two major orifices here, and that one has a gag reflex."

"That's not what I heard," Clint says, because they might be on the clock in a high-stakes (if mid-level) government spy operation, exposed in a public bathroom where anyone could walk in on them at any time, but some shots you just have to take.

"Ha ha. Anyway, can I shove this junk up my ass already, or do you have more funny quips you need to share?"

Clint throws up his hands and backs out of the stall, turning around to rest against the wall and keep an eye on the bathroom door.

"Out of curiosity, what made you want to volunteer for this particular task?" he calls. "It seems strangely altruistic of you."

"There was way more scanning tech at the entrance than there was supposed to be," Tony replies.

"Yeah, the mission briefing had some seriously bad intel there. I was really hoping Barrett would give us a smooth getaway, but there's nothing to be done."

Behind him in the stall, Tony grunts, obviously not enjoying the sensation too much. Clint winces.

"So," Tony says, his breath coming a little fast, "plenty of that stuff will easily pick out bits of metal inside the human body."

"So, uh, how – "

"I've already _got_ tons of metal inside me. You've got what, a pin in your knee, a plate in your head?"

"The plate's in my _shoulder_."

"Whatever, anyway, I'm Iron Man! People expect me to be full of chunks of metal and shit."

Clint makes a face, even though Tony can't see it. "Nobody thinks you've got metal inside you just because you wear a metal suit!"

"Well, I do, so. There should be enough crap floating around in there – pardon the imagery – to mask the drives. The subcutaneous sensors that I use for suit recall alone are enough to drive the metal detectors wild." 

"Huh," Clint says. "Not bad, Stark."

"Thanks, I'm proud too. Superspying isn't – hmm, _ow_ – isn't so tough." His voice is starting to sound seriously strained. Clint hears the toilet paper roll spin.

"You okay in there?"

"It's possible that I'm bleeding slightly from my anus. These things were not designed to be insertable."

"So, maybe we won't stay for dessert, then."

"I think we'd better go, yes, thank you, Barton."

Tony only calls him Barton – instead of Legolas, Katniss, Cupid, Robin, or on occasion Clint – when he's under stress or in pain. He comes out of the stall all buttoned up and looking as put-together as ever, but his walk is a bit stiff, and there's a grimace of pain on his face.

"All right, so, shoulders back, tie straight, try not to make a face like you've got sixty gigs of incriminating evidence shoved up your ass," Clint says. Tony glares at him, but he does shake himself out a little and makes an obvious effort to relax his face and shoulders.

"Maybe walk slower?" Clint chews his lip as Tony tries it. "Maybe pretend to be drunk?"

"Maybe I should just _be_ drunk," Tony mutters. "Okay, okay, I got it. Thanks."

Clint smiles. "All right, then, let's make for the exit."

To his surprise, Tony takes his arm. "I'm thinking I was just in here throwing up, and you're escorting your rich dissolute boyfriend home," he explains.

Impulsively, Clint runs a tentative hand through Tony's hair, messing it up. It's surprisingly soft. "You wanna drool on yourself or something for additional verisimilitude?"

"I think I'm good."

"I could poke you in the eyes to make them go bloodshot."

"Can we go?"

They make it out of the bathroom and, to Clint's shock, out of the party without a hitch. The tech behind the body scanning machines blinks in shock at Tony's scan, but when Clint shrugs at him and says "Iron Man," he seems to think that makes sense. Even though it _totally doesn't_.

"You're a real SHIELD agent now," Clint tells him, as they walk calmly towards the valet station. "This has been a rite of passage for you. I'm so proud." 

"Will the other SHIELD agents start liking me?"

"No." Impulsively, Clint adds, "But I like you."

Tony's smile is genuine. "If only I'd known earlier that shoving the results of corporate espionage up my ass was the way to your heart."

Back at the helicarrier, Tony heads off for the bathroom again.

"Want any help retrieving those documents, Stark?" Clint asks. Tony flips him the bird and hobbles off.

"Suck it, Legolas."

Clint grins.

 

**5\. everyone**

After the Chitauri invasion, Pepper and Tony invite the other members of the team – the Avengers, as they're apparently called now – to move into Stark Tower. 

Natasha says no.

"It really is quite nice," Pepper tells her, during one of their weekly coffee meetings (3pm Wednesday afternoons, each time in a public place, each time in a different public place). "And it's rent-free."

"Is there a reason you and your boyfriend want me to move into your house so bad?" Natasha asks, allowing herself a flirtatious grin in Pepper's direction. Pepper smiles back, polite and restrained, her eyes a little gleeful behind her expression.

"Officially, it's for the protection and privacy of the team, and to make it easier to congregate should some new situation arise."

Natasha waits.

"But really we could just use the company," Pepper finishes. "Bruce is staying."

"Bruce's other option is sleeping under a bridge," Natasha replies. "I have a very cozy set of quarters with SHIELD."

"I'm sure," Pepper laughs. "Well, the offer remains open. You're always welcome in my home, Natasha."

Natasha is struck by a memory, and realizes that Pepper said almost the same words to her once before, when she was working for her as Natalie Rushman. Natasha – Natalie – had brought some files to Pepper at her barely-used apartment, and had lingered on the threshold, performing uncertainty about her welcome. Back then, Pepper had said, "Of course you're always welcome," to wave her inside, and Natalie had joined her in the warm light of her paper-strewn kitchen.

It's hard to believe that Pepper's trust hasn't wavered since learning her other name, her other occupation. Perhaps, she thinks, it's just a courtesy, a phrase that Pepper uses without meaning it, to put people at their ease. But as time goes on, and they continue to enjoy coffee together every Wednesday at 3pm, and Natasha continues to work with Tony to fight monsters and demons on an increasingly regular basis, she begins to wonder if it might be true.

*

After a time, she comes to regard her residency in the tower as optional (something she can take advantage of when they've been working together in New York City and she needs a place to crash) and then as occasional (something she can take advantage of when it suits her), but she maintains her SHIELD quarters nonetheless. Still, when Tony sees her coming in one day, carrying a small hard-sided suitcase, the expression on his face is one of badly concealed joy.

"You're finally moving your things in?" he asks. She smiles at him gently.

"I'm moving a few things in. In case of emergencies."

"Knives, guns, underwear, I got it," he says, winking. Natasha is amused, not least because that's a fairly accurate inventory of the majority of her packed items. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I won't," she says, though as she says it she thinks that, really, she doesn't need this apartment at the tower either. She just wants it.

But the eager expression on Tony's face, the clear desire that he has for friends, teammates, company – it reminds her that _wanting_ is the one thing that Tony is truly great at. Perhaps she can take a lesson from him, in that; or perhaps, just by being here, she already has.

*

She keeps up her weekly dates with Pepper, and of course she sees Clint as much as ever, for shared meals on their floors, for strategy planning sessions, for sparring practice, and sometimes for naps. But she begins spending time with the others too – with Steve over eggs at breakfast, with Bruce in the cozy little back sitting room on quiet afternoons, with Thor, out on the balcony during the occasional sunset. As time goes by she finds that she likes her new team, and she likes the people she meets as a result of knowing them, too: Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, Betty Ross, James Rhodes, Sam Wilson, Erik Selvig, all of whom visit or stay from time to time. On occasion, Stark Tower is a booming, busy place, full of conversation and camaraderie: Jane and Bruce and Betty talking science, Rhodey and Tony engineering Sam's suit, Darcy and Erik and Thor critiquing the designs on the latest episode of _Project Runway_. Natasha usually just hangs out with Clint, sometimes in the vents, but she can't deny that she likes the feel of it, the sounds and smells of a home full of people who care for one another.

She notices, too, that the more people there are in the tower, the happier Tony is, even if it doesn't mean that he cuts down his time spent alone in the lab poking at machines. And as he gets happier, Pepper gets more satisfied too, obviously glad to have a community around Tony and around herself, people who understand their lives.

Eventually, Natasha comes to regard her residence in the tower as preferable to the other options available to her.

*

Natasha knows, of course, that Tony wants her. He has ever since he met her, obviously, and she used that to her advantage when she was undercover. But it's not until she begins occasionally residing in his house that she realizes exactly how he wants her.

"Come spar with me," he says, often enough that she eventually relents and does it.

"You want to spar because you think I'm the only one on the team you can beat?" she asks lightly, as they circle each other.

"I want to spar because I want you to show me that thing you did to Happy that time."

She does show him, a lot, but no matter how many times she does, he doesn't seem inclined to stop being shown. His body makes a satisfying thump against the mat when he goes down, and she starts to get used to it, the sound, the low joy she feels as his body surrenders.

"I love that," he says once, panting, and Natasha knows he thinks he's talking about the move, its efficiency and precision. But she knows, because she loves it too, that he means the fall itself.

"Do you spar much, with the others?" she asks, lightly, when they've moved on to other moves, other matches. He can occasionally get a punch in, and from the beginning he doesn't pull them, which is something that very few men in her life, Clint excepted, have ever done. 

Of course, if Clint had pulled the first punch he ever threw at her, he would be dead, and her life would be very different.

"Sometimes," Tony says. "Clint or Steve, usually. Thor's a lot for little ol' me to bite off."

About a month ago they'd convinced Bruce to let the Hulk out for a spin, and had flown to an abandoned army training ground in the southwest that Tony owned. Thor had sparred with him, and while they hadn't quite been matched blow for blow, Thor had certainly given the Hulk a run for his money.

"I bet Thor would love to play with you, though," Natasha says archly, executing an educated guess. She's seen the way that Tony looks at Thor, looks at all the Avengers, really: quietly covetous, dark and sexual, like he wants something he doesn't know how to ask for. The idea that there could be anything that Tony Stark would hesitate to take for himself intrigues her, and his obvious desire awakens an answering desire in her.

From Tony's expression, she's not wrong, and she takes advantage of his distraction to knock him around a little. He staggers a few steps away from her and holds up a hand so that he can get his breath back.

"You don't fight fair," Tony gasps, which actually makes Natasha laugh out loud.

"I notice that you don't deny it," she says, still grinning as she ducks his next blows.

"Deny what?" he asks. She puts him in a wristlock for a moment, uses it to land a punch against his torso, and then releases him before he can use his weight against her.

"That you'd like for Thor to play with you. Or has he already?"

"That's between me and my God," Tony says piously, and Natasha lets herself be distracted by his wit and humor, enough that he manages to land a blow.

As usual, though, the fight ends with her taking him down, knocking him first onto all fours and then onto his face, pinning him with her hands and knees and weight until he squirms beneath her. 

"Okay." He's breathing heavily. He sounds hoarse, choked. Natasha knows the signs for what they are, and smiles to herself. "Let me up."

"Can you stay down for a minute?" she asks, politely. 

There's a pause, clearly Tony trying to figure out what she wants, and then he says, "Sure?"

"Good. I like you this way." Predictably, he shivers slightly underneath her. "And I wanted to ask you a question. What about Steve?"

"What – what about Steve?" Tony asks, his face pressed to the mat.

"When you spar with Steve, does he do this to you?"

"Does he win? He's a super soldier, of course he – "

"And do you like it when Steve wins as much as when I do?" This isn't her preferred mode of interrogation; it's blunt and unsubtle, and completely transparent about her own aims. But she knows that it is, undoubtedly, Tony's preferred mode of interrogation, to feel pinned like a butterfly, wriggling like a worm on a hook.

Tony shifts underneath her.

"Do you want to be let up?"

A pause. "No."

"I didn't think so. Do you like it when Steve wins?"

"Yeah. Natasha. I – yeah. Where is this – what are you – "

"Clint too? Rhodey? Bruce? Pepper?"

Tony's breathing is harsh and loud, now, in the quiet expanse of the gym. This is her favorite moment in any interrogation: the moment when they could be the only two people in the world, and the last answer, the most important answer, hangs in the silence between them, aching to be spoken.

Natasha waits. Tony gives it up.

"All of them," he says. "All of you."

Natasha nods, satisfied. For his benefit, she holds him down for another few seconds, letting him sweat. "I thought so," she says. Then she stands, suddenly, letting him go.

When he turns over, his face is flushed, and his dick is hard in his sweatpants. To his credit, he shows no interest in hiding it.

"Thank you for your candor, Mr Stark," she drawls, letting her eyes linger on his erection. Tony looks up at her, panting, eyes wide.

"Anytime," he mutters, as she heads out the door.

Natasha doesn't reply or even slow her step. She needs to talk to Pepper.

*

Pepper manages it, she says, by simply telling Tony she wants to surprise him with a scene, and asking him for an extensive list of things he'd like to be surprised by. The list that this question generates is certainly long enough that Tony won't be able to expect any particular course of events, and inventive enough that Natasha wouldn't mind doing this sort of thing more than once, if the first time goes well.

Pepper goes over the list with her at one of their 3pm coffee meetings – this one held, by necessity, in the tower, rather than in a public place – and together they work out a plan. 

"I must say it's nice working with you again," Pepper grins, as she sips her espresso. "Though I was surprised when you suggested this particular project."

Natasha shrugs; it's a question about her motivation, but she's not sure how to reply. She's found it difficult to articulate, even to herself, the hard knot of feelings within her that drive her to want to do this for Tony. For all of them, really.

"He wants us," Natasha says, which is of course true. She would stop there, she intended to stop there, but looking at Pepper's warm expression and remembering that phrase – _you're always welcome in my home_ – Natasha allows herself to say more. "I want him to have us."

Pepper nods slowly, perhaps hearing the rest of the admission, the part that Natasha does not allow herself to say: _I want us all to have each other_. Natasha finds, to her surprise, that she doesn't mind the idea of Pepper knowing that. The fact that she doesn't mind is, in itself, slightly terrifying.

"Well, I'll get everyone on board who wants to be on board, and we'll see where we are," Pepper says, glancing down at the list again.

"And I'll go shopping," Natasha says, looking down at the list of supplies they put together. The first stop on her shopping trip will be the helicarrier infirmary.

"Natasha." Pepper looks hesitant, which she very rarely does. Natasha pays attention. "Thank you. This is going to mean a lot to Tony. And it means a lot to me, too."

Natasha smiles. She knows Pepper well enough to guess what she'll get out of this for herself, sexually and emotionally, but she also knows that part of Pepper's satisfaction will come from seeing Tony's joy, that Pepper is giving enough to feel that kind of empathy. Natasha is fascinated by it.

Slowly, Pepper leans in towards her, and Natasha leans back so that their mouths meet, unhurried and unsurprisingly, a slow soft moment of recognition that was bound to happen between them eventually. They kiss for a long, lovely moment, until Pepper's clever mouth has Natasha almost willing to give up on elaborate kinky plans and just fuck her instead, right here, right now.

"Guess we'd better save something for the festivities," Pepper murmurs, as she pulls away.

Natasha grins, because she gets the sense that she and Pepper have similar feelings about delayed gratification. "I can wait," she says.

*

On the appointed day, Natasha finds Tony sitting on a couch in his lab talking to Bruce. Bruce looks up at her approach, but his control is, as ever, excellent, and he does nothing to give away the game.

"Natasha! To what do we owe the pleasure?" Tony asks, as she sits down on his other side.

Natasha says nothing. Instead she lashes out, grabbing Tony by the hair and pulling his head back, exposing his neck. 

"Say _red_ at any time," she says softly. Tony flails in her grip, trying to get away; she pins his right arm and leg, and is pleased to notice that Bruce has calmly done the same on the left. "Do you understand me?"

Tony swallows. "Yes."

She tightens her grip in his hair. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, I understand," he says, eyes shuttering closed. Natasha can't help but grin.

"Good." Using her knee to keep him still, she pulls out the hypodermic she brought with her and, unceremoniously, sticks it in his neck. 

"Shit," he says, as he begins to lose consciousness; then, just before he passes out, he sighs, "This is _great_."

"Well that was impressive," Bruce says. He takes Tony's pulse, checks his breathing and his pupils, then nods firmly, satisfied.

"Let's get him upstairs," Natasha says, motioning for Bruce to fetch the emergency stretcher from the corner.

*

They remove his clothes together, all of them working gently and respectfully: Steve unbuttoning his pants, then helping Bruce slide them off; Clint and Rhodey moving his arms to remove first his t-shirt and then his long-sleeved shirt; Thor pulling off each sock to bare his soft pink toes. Pepper steps in to do the honors with his boxer-briefs, and then they all pause together to take in the image: Tony, exposed and vulnerable, trusting them enough to want this from them. Being stripped while unconscious and helpless had been at number ten on Tony's list, and all of them here now had been listed as people he wanted to do it to him. Natasha feels a prickling behind her eyes and a hollow ache in her chest at the sight of Tony's body, completely naked and spread out before them, and has to blink a few times and take a deep breath before she can step forward to start strapping him down.

Natasha arranges it so that by the time Tony wakes up, he's cuffed by soft padded leather at his wrists and ankles, face down on the huge bed, a spreader bar holding his legs invitingly apart. Pepper is lying near his head, which they've propped up to make sure he can breathe easily. She knows him the best, and has done these sorts of games with him before. Natasha thinks that he'll want to see someone he trusts, when he first wakes up.

"Hey baby," Pepper says, stroking Tony's hair as his eyes begin to flutter open. "Don't try to move, we've got you all tied up."

Tony, of course, tries to move immediately, but finds quickly that he doesn't have much range of motion. The leather cuffs are attached to straps that attach to the four corners of the bed, nice and neat, but the bed is so big that this actually means the straps are quite long. They'll have to be very careful not to twist or pull on his restraints. That had all been in the briefing, of course, so everyone should be aware, but Natasha intends to keep a close eye on it anyway. 

"I see that," Tony says, voice still muddy from the sedative.

"Once you're feeling alert again," Pepper says, still stroking his hair, "all your friends are going to fuck your ass until you're raw and screaming, okay, sweetheart?"

Natasha's never seen anything quite like Pepper's domination style, all sugarpie-sweet and steel-strong, and she can't deny the effect it has on her, even when she's not the focus of Pepper's attention. She doesn't sub often – hasn't in years – but she gets the feeling that she might want to ask Pepper to dom for her, one day.

Tony whimpers, but Pepper seems to take it as a good sign, so it must be a standard sex noise for him. "Oh, God, Pep," he breathes. "It isn't even my birthday."

"After all this, I'm just getting you socks," Clint calls, from the corner. 

"Holy fuck," Tony says. "Is that _Clint_? You got Clint to come?"

Natasha shoots Clint a warning look before he can make a quip involving the word "come." This is an important part of the negotiation. Clint makes a _zip-it_ motion over his own mouth, acquiescing.

"Lots of your friends are here," Pepper says. She's still stroking his hair, rhythmically, and Natasha is glad to see that Tony's relaxed since his initial exploratory struggle against the restraints. To reinforce Pepper's point, Natasha reaches out carefully and runs her index finger over the rough curve of Tony's heel. Tony's foot twitches against her touch.

"Who?" Tony asks immediately.

Pepper cocks her head. "Do you really want to know in advance?"

Tony licks his lips, obviously thinking about it. "How many?" 

"Seven," Pepper says. "Including me. You're going to take quite a pounding before the day is over." Her hand has moved down to Tony's shoulder, where she's scratching her nails against his skin, still rhythmically, but not at all lightly.

"Pepper, Pepper, Pepper, I love you," Tony babbles, and everyone laughs.

"You love Natasha, actually. It was her idea. This is her show." At this some new tension is introduced to the muscles of Tony's back and shoulders.

"Natasha?" he says, and Natasha smiles to herself at his disbelieving tone. "Really?"

"What, I'm not allowed to get you something nice?" Natasha asks.

"It's just suspicious," Tony protests, wriggling against the sheets. He's obviously getting hard, but he's strapped down tight enough that his dick is trapped against the mattress. Natasha smirks, and Pepper laughs aloud.

"All right, then, baby, that's enough talk," Pepper says. "We're using red-yellow-green, just so that everyone's on the same page. How are you feeling right now?"

" _Green_ ," Tony replies instantly, emphatically, and everyone laughs again. It reminds Natasha, bizarrely, of their team movie nights, or the meals they share sometimes after missions; even though this time they're assembled for a gangbang, they still have the same easy camaraderie, the same shared experiences, the same bone-deep understanding of one another.

She knows these people.

Pepper stands and starts stripping down; everyone else follows suit, some shyly (Steve), some unselfconsciously (Bruce), and some twirling their t-shirt around their finger dramatically before tossing it into Clint's face (Rhodey, which leads to a brief slapfight). 

As they all reveal themselves, something changes, the atmosphere in the room changes, and they become bodies, bare skins in a room full of other bare skins. Natasha made sure to set the room's heat fairly high to ensure their comfort, but in spite of the warmth she feels her nipples begin to tighten and peak as she glances around the room. She wonders how she would feel if all these people were here for her, to fuck her hard against the bed. She suppresses a shiver. 

When he's naked, Clint comes over to her, his dick already starting to get hard, and to her surprise he takes her hand.

"Great idea, Nat," he says softly. They kiss.

"Thanks," she says.

"Now, the only question is, do we leave Tony strapped down like this, so that he has to try to rub himself off against the sheets, or do we give him a little more rope and start him off doggy-style?" Pepper is asking.

"Whoever goes first should get to decide," Thor supplies. Tony shivers at Thor's voice, deep and rumbling rich. 

"Thor, buddy, glad you could make it," he chokes out. 

"That's me, then," Steve grins, and Tony lets out a noise, half laugh and half excited moan, as he recognizes Steve's voice. "Natasha, let him up a bit, will you?"

"Sure thing, Cap," Natasha says, and moves to loosen each of the straps in turn. She does the ones at his feet first, and when she walks around to the front, she feels Tony watching her.

"Hey Nat," he says, offhandedly.

"Hey Stark," she replies. "You look good, all strapped down like that. It's a pity to let you move at all, I think. You're lucky Steve's so generous."

"Lucky me," he says, obviously meaning it. She smiles. 

"Pepper's gonna get you ready. She's generous too; if it were me, I'd fuck you dry." As she speaks, Pepper crawls up behind Tony, lube in hand, and starts fingering him slowly, stretching him out.

"Oh, god, Pep," Tony moans. Behind him, Pepper looks satisfied, and starts fucking him with another finger.

His eyes are dark, his mouth open just a little. His lip is wet where he's licked it, indented where he's bitten it. She feels the urge to run her thumb along his bottom lip, and gives in to it, feeling the shape of his toothmarks. Tony's mouth falls open further, like an automatic reflex, and Natasha smiles.

"Nice," she says. She looks up at Pepper for permission, and at Pepper's nod, she leans in and kisses him, hard, taking his mouth with her tongue and teeth, biting in the place he's already bitten himself. Tony kisses back desperately, trying to keep up.

"Quite a mouth on you," she says, when she pulls back out of Tony's reach.

"So they tell me," Tony pants. He's shifting back and forth, as much as his restraints will allow, trying to push back against Pepper's fingers. Natasha goes back to loosening the straps. 

"You might need it later. By the end, I imagine you'll be begging us to fuck your throat instead."

Tony lets his head fall, so that his forehead lands on the cool sheets. "Jesus Christ, Natasha," she hears. Grinning, she tugs the last strap into place.

"Okay, we're good to go here," she says, giving the rest of the room a thumbs up. In the corner, Clint and Rhodey have obviously settled their differences, or else are just tired of waiting for the action to begin, because they're cuddled together on one of the couches and making out a little, tentatively, smiling between slow brushed kisses and murmuring questions back and forth. Clint's hand is braced against Rhodey's chest. Natasha can't say she's unmoved by the sight.

Tony starts to groan, obviously enjoying the sensation of Pepper's fingers inside of him, and so naturally she takes that as her cue to pull out. "I've got him all open and ready to be fucked," she says, licking her lips.

"My turn," Steve says, crawling forward on the bed to where Tony is lying. He's flushed, though whether from embarrassment or excitement Natasha can't tell. She wonders what Pepper's conversation with him was like, how he reacted initially when she explained what they wanted. 

He shows no hesitation now, slapping Tony briskly on the thigh and grinning down at him. He's hard already, and Natasha can't help but imagine how his dick would feel inside her, big and nicely curved, backed up by all of Steve's strength and stamina.

"All right, then, soldier, up on your hands and knees," Steve says, and Tony breaks out laughing, obviously remembering some shared joke. It's the perfect way to start them off, and Natasha couldn't be more grateful to Steve in that moment for knowing what to say, knowing how to lead them. She put him first in the batting order for a lot of reasons, but this was what she was hoping for.

Tony scrambles to his hands and knees, hampered somewhat by the spreader bar, gradually finding the new limit of the restraints. His dick rises to press against his belly. Steve doesn't waste any time, just rubs a little lube on himself, over the condom, and then pushes forward, taking Tony in one long, smooth stroke.

"So, what, did you win the coin toss, Cap?" Tony grunts, when Steve's inside him. Steve's big hands rub up and down Tony's back, down to cradle his hips, up to span across the base of Tony's neck. Tony arches beneath him.

"You better believe I did," Steve laughs, setting up a hard, steady rhythm. He snaps his hips forward easily on each thrust, obviously holding back the raw power that he's capable of. "What, you think we didn't fight over who got to fuck your tight little hole open?"

Steve's tone is easy and conversational, for all that his words are so pornographic, and around the room eyebrows go up. Thor moves to sit next to Rhodey, who's still making out with Clint, and after a quiet word in Rhodey's ear and Rhodey's eager nod, Thor bends his head to kiss Rhodey's neck, never taking his eyes off of Steve and Tony in the center of the room.

Tony's reaction is more immediate; he groans loudly, his fingers digging into the sheets below him, and he lets his head hang down in submission. It's a beautiful sight.

"Steve, Steve, Steve, oh, God," Tony says.

"Language," Steve laughs, and picks up the rhythm, fucking faster and harder. Natasha's seen Steve punching the bag in the gym, and this is like that, in a way: Steve's body brought to bear on one thing, all his focus and energy poured out against it. Tony is shoved forward on the bed with each stroke, scrabbling for purchase, and Natasha's glad she loosened the straps as much as she did.

She watches for a little while from her place on one of the couches, letting herself thumb over her own nipple, once, for the tease of it, as she looks around to check on her teammates. Thor and Rhodey and Clint are still fooling around, all of them tangled together on the far couch; Pepper is reclining on the bed a few feet away from Steve and Tony, lip between her teeth and fingers between her legs; and Bruce is sprawled in one of the chairs in the corner, rubbing his palm back and forth over his thigh and watching the action avidly. He notices her looking and nods at her, lips parting as he lets out a slow, shuddering breath. He's not touching his dick, she notices; maybe he likes the tease, too.

"Oh, I knew this would be good," Steve groans, never letting up for a second, and Natasha starts to wonder if Tony's going to be fucked out after one round. She couldn't blame him if he was; Steve is a force of nature. "I knew you'd be good, Tony." Steve caresses Tony's back, slow and gentle and a perfect contrast to the rough, hard pace of his fucking.

Tony cries out and tries to touch himself, but his hand is stopped by the restraints when it's halfway to his cock, and then Steve's fucking unbalances him, so that he has to put his hand back down on the bed to stop himself from falling forward onto his face. He cries out again, in sheer frustration, as his dick leaks against his stomach.

"Please," he says, "please, please, touch me, Steve – "

Steve laughs, not unkindly. "Sorry, buddy," he pants, still pounding into Tony's ass. "Not in the rules."

"You only get to come from being fucked," Natasha explains from the sidelines. Tony blinks up at her, hazy, and she offers him her best evil grin. This had been number eight on Tony's list. And number twenty-three. She gets the feeling that Tony didn't edit the list much.

"Fuck," Tony spits, obviously lost in the edge of sensation but not quite able to come, not yet. 

"Color?" Natasha demands.

"Green." Tony breathes the word on the tail of a laugh.

"You can do it, baby," Pepper soothes, sitting on the bed a few feet away. "You can do it, just take it."

Tony does, bracing his arms and gritting his teeth and holding on for dear life as Steve fucks him, and fucks him, and finally comes, quietly, holding still for a long moment as his fingers scrabble at Tony's back and hips. Steve's eyes are closed, his mouth full and red and open, and it takes him a while to come back to himself. When he does, his expression is goofy and happy as he pulls out of Tony, gets rid of the condom, and rolls away to collapse, sighing, on the carpet. Bruce nudges one of the neat little washcloth-basins toward him, and Steve, blissed out with his eyes closed, manages to find it with his groping hands eventually.

Tony's breath is the loudest thing in the room, now, shuddering in and out as he hangs his head and fists the sheets. Natasha takes pity on him.

"Clint, you're up," she says, and Clint breaks away from his little threesome and gives her a salute.

"Let's see if I can make you come, Stark," Clint says, climbing up behind Tony and running a slow hand up his spine to the nape of his neck. Tony doesn't say anything, just gasps as Clint grabs a fistful of hair and tugs, hard, pulling Tony's head back.

Obviously conscious of the comparison to Steve, Clint doesn't bother trying to match him for speed and force, opting instead to rock his way slowly into Tony, setting up a gentle rhythm that involves almost no movement at all. Natasha bites her lip; she knows those movements, knows that fuck. She and Clint have spent hours like that, rocking slowly together, until all that exists is the next tiny, soft motion of his body inside her.

"That's how you like it, huh?" Pepper says, and Natasha doesn't know how she missed Pepper getting up and coming around to join her on her couch.

She was distracted, she supposes.

Perhaps, in this room, with these people, it's forgivable.

"What's how I like it?" she asks, not taking her eyes off of Clint and Tony, the patience and gentleness that might be surprising to anyone who doesn't know Clint.

"Slow. Teasing." Pepper looks from Natasha back to Clint and Tony as Clint executes a careful, experimental roll of his hips that makes Tony cry out. "Precise."

Pepper's hand is on her knee. Across the room, Thor is biting at Rhodey's neck, and Bruce is digging his fingernails into his thigh, and Steve has recovered enough to sit back up and watch, hair mussed, cheeks pink, obviously riding a wave of endorphins. Clint is taking his time, drawing out almost all the way and then sinking slowly back in, so that Tony is writhing in arousal and frustration.

"Please," Tony says. "Please, Clint, please – "

"Please what?" Clint asks, grinning. He's sweating, and his hair is flopping down into his eyes, and he doesn't speed up at all.

"Just give me a little more, I need it – " Tony's voice is a low whine as he begs shamelessly, willing to let everyone in this room see him like this. Tony wants this, so much that he was able to ask for it, so much that he's now able to beg for it.

Natasha puts her hand over Pepper's and tugs it up her thigh, up up up until Pepper's fingers are dipping and curling down into her cunt.

Gently, Pepper turns Natasha's chin so that they can kiss, long and slow and wet, their breathing in time with the unhurried pace of the fucking in front of them. 

Pepper's fingers are slow, too, pressing hard and slow in a perfect, unforgiving tease. As her fingers slip and squeeze Natasha realizes, for the first time, how wet she is, how much she wants this. How hot it's made her, just being in this room with her teammates and watching Tony spread for cock.

Clint keeps his pace slow, and Pepper does too, delicious and rough and slow slow slow, so that Natasha is out of breath and desperate in minutes, her cunt clenching in waves as she lifts her hips to fuck herself against Pepper's hand. 

"You like this," Clint says quietly, twisting his hips and dragging long, low moans out of Tony's mouth. "You want this, all of this, all of us. You'd do this every day, if you could." Clint's voice is uninflected, almost a whisper, and all the more devastating for it. "You'd stay here on this bed, full of cock, all the time."

"Yes," Tony says, "yes," and he comes, spurting all over himself, covered in sweat and semen and the admission of voracious desire. Natasha gasps, blinks, and then Pepper's fingers are fast on her clit and Pepper's teeth are sharp against her neck and she comes too, carried away by the roaring heat of it, lost for a blissful moment in waves of constricting pleasure. She collapses back against Pepper, catching her breath, and once she has the wherewithal she turns and takes Pepper's face in her hands, kissing her deeply.

"Ahem," comes a voice from behind them. Natasha breaks away and turns to see Clint pulling out of Tony, dick soft. 

"What?" she demands.

"Aw, Natasha, you missed my orgasm," Clint whines, and Thor and Rhodey take a break from what has now escalated to mutual handjobs to laugh uproariously.

"I'm sure it was great, sweetie," she says, and everyone laughs again. Getting up, she fetches one of Tony's viagra from the table and holds it up in front of his face.

Wordlessly, Tony opens his mouth. Natasha places it on his tongue, then gives him a little water to wash it down with. Tony swallows, eyes never leaving her face. She smiles down at him.

Clint ties off his condom and tosses it towards the trash bin; he misses, and it bounces off the rim. Steve raises an eyebrow at him and coughs to cover his laugh.

"Hey, I'm not a _machine_ ," he says sheepishly. "I miss sometimes." He gets up off the bed and picks it up, dropping it into the trash directly.

Natasha looks back at Tony, who's still lying in his own fluids and breathing hard. "Maybe it's just that Tony's such a good fuck that he put you off your game," she says.

"Hmm, he's got a great little ass," Clint agrees. They both sit back own on the couch together, and Clint takes her hand in his. "Who's fucking it next?"

"I believe I am on deck," Thor rumbles. He looks ready for it; Rhodey has been pumping his dick for the last ten minutes, and he's hard and huge. 

"You're up," Steve corrects him. "He's on deck." He jerks a thumb at Rhodey, who's kept quiet enough that Tony probably still doesn't know he's here, and then grins. "Tony's on dick."

At this, Tony stirs. "Jesus, I didn't know there was going to be _painplay_ ," he says.

Natasha laughs without even meaning to.

Thor uses a prodigious amount of lube, which is only reasonable given the size of his cock, but even so it takes a while for him to work his way into Tony's ass. 

"God, god, Thor," Tony groans. "You're so big, holy shit."

"Breathe, Tony," Pepper says.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Tony is saying. "Fuck. Yellow." Thor pauses.

"Do you want me to pull out?" he asks.

"No, I – no, I want to, I want – " Tony grimaces in frustration. Thor keeps still, which must take a lot of restraint, as he waits for instruction.

"Tell us what you need, Tony," Natasha says softly. Tony shakes his head, obviously overwhelmed. Natasha looks around the room.

"Bruce," she says, using her field-command voice. They'd talked about this, about different ways to bring Tony down if something pushed him too far; Bruce had suggested this, and Pepper had agreed.

"Here," Bruce says, getting up from his chair and walking around the bed to where Tony's head is. At the sound of Bruce's voice, Tony's head comes up; he obviously wasn't expecting him to be here. "Here," Bruce says again softly, crouching down. "Want me to talk you through it?" he offers.

"Yes, yes, Bruce, thank you," Tony says, and tilts his chin upwards, begging for a kiss. Bruce looks surprised by the gesture, but leans in to kiss him, full and lush and open. When they separate Bruce looks shy again, hesitant, but when he speaks it's in low, confident tones.

"Breathe with me," Bruce says. "Take a breath, and when you let it go, relax your body."

Tony does, matching his breath to Bruce's. It's something to see, the two of them matching rhythms, the tension in Tony's back and legs draining away.

"That's good, keep going. You can take this, Tony. Just relax and take it."

Tony nods, holding Bruce's gaze, and on his next exhale Thor gives a groan and sinks a little further into Tony's ass.

"Oh, oh, oh," Tony says, blinking. "Fuck."

"You're doing good," Bruce says. "Each breath of air travels through your body, warming you, loosening your muscles." He licks his lips. "Tony. Relax and let Thor fuck you."

Natasha doesn't think she's ever heard that word from Bruce's lips, and she's surprised by how good it sounds, how precise. From the look on Tony's face, he's surprised, too.

"Bruce – Thor – " Tony writhes, suspended between the two of them, eyes locked on Bruce as Thor holds him still and fucks in slowly, slowly.

"You feel so good, Tony," he says, buried in Tony's body, his big hands spread wide over Tony's hips. His hair is falling down over his shoulders and his abs are flexing as he holds back, reining in all that strength and waiting for Tony to say something.

"You're really – ah, ah – you're really huge, Thor, god." He pants, and squirms, and then he says, "Green."

Tentatively, Bruce reaches out and puts his hand over Tony's where it's braced on the bed.

"Is this not what you wanted?" Thor asks, beginning to move. Tony thrashes beneath him, obviously just about to cross the line from pain into pleasure. "Did you not want to be opened, filled, pounded until you screamed?"

Thor pulls out slowly, so slowly, and then pushes back in at the same pace, fucking Tony open. Tony makes a choked-off cry, and Thor pauses again. 

"Taken by the hammer of Asgard?" Thor adds, a little smile on his lips.

"Green," Tony says, laughing. "Green, green, green, do that again – "

Thor laughs too, his great booming feast-time laugh, and does it, pulls out and shoves back in as Tony opens around him. "I knew it," he says. "I knew you would beg me for it, desperate and wanton."

"Wow, this is some old-timey sex talk," Clint whispers to Natasha, pulling a blanket down from the back of the couch and wrapping up in it. She nods, watching as Thor speeds up.

"Thor, please, oh god – " 

"Shameless and debauched," Thor continues, his white grin flashing as he tosses his hair over his shoulder. "Covered in your own filth and still begging for more." Thor goes faster, pumping with his hips, and Tony shudders, mouth dropping open, eyes dropping closed. Bruce leans forward and kisses Tony again, obviously unable to help himself, as Thor laughs and fucks and comes inside him.

"Very nice," he says, pulling out, giving Tony a hearty smack on the ass that rocks him forward on the bed. Tony whimpers into Bruce's mouth. Bruce pulls back with a self-satisfied smile.

"See you again later," Bruce says, smiling. Tony whimpers again.

"That's my cue," Pepper says, standing up. Natasha watches her ass as she goes.

"So that's a thing, huh?" Clint asks. "I saw you two while I was fucking Tony."

"Mmm," Natasha agrees. "We'll see."

"Pep?" Tony is saying, surprised. His voice is hoarse, pleasure-slurred. "Are you next?"

"I've decided to team up with someone else," Pepper says, unscrewing a bottle of water. "Open your mouth."

Tony does, and Pepper puts the bottle to his lips. Tony drinks greedily, sucking and slurping as little rivulets of water pour down his face. 

"Good boy," she says, and Tony's eyes go dark. Pepper runs a hand through his sweat-slick hair, pushing it up and out of his eyes.

Behind them, Rhodey is rubbing a hand over Tony's hip, still keeping quiet, and as Pepper puts the water up on a little side table, Rhodey pushes into his ass, grunting as he buries himself deep. Tony hangs his head down, panting, and Pepper touches his face.

"Who – who is that?" Tony asks. No one answers him. Rhodey keeps fucking him, and he groans.

"You sore, baby?" Pepper asks. Tony nods, but doesn't raise his head. "You can take it, though, huh?" Tony nods again, leaning up into her touch. Natasha has never seen him so docile, and she leans forward, interested.

Across the room, she sees Steve lean forward too, wrapping his hand around his cock as he watches them. His eyes are wide, and there's a red flush high on his cheeks. Natasha wonders who he's identifying with, in that scenario; she suspects it's Tony.

"Someone needs a momma bear of his own," Clint mutters, following her gaze, and Natasha smiles. As they watch, Thor joins Steve on the couch, bending his head to speak in Steve's ear, and a moment later he's taken over, his big hand pumping Steve's cock hard and sure while Steve arches up against him.

"Looks like someone just got one," Natasha replies dryly.

Rhodey is fucking Tony in earnest now, the rough wet sound of skin on skin beginning to fill the room again. 

"Rhodey," Tony says suddenly. "Rhodey, that's – Rhodey, you – "

"I'm here, buddy," Rhodey says, finally speaking. "I got you."

Tony whines and shoves back against him.

"All right, Pepper," Rhodey says. "You ready?"

Pepper walks over to the low table by the wall. "Almost," she says, picking up her harness and stepping into it. "Natasha, if you don't mind?"

Natasha flow smoothly to her feet and unlocks the spreader bar holding Tony's legs apart. Tony groans as she does it, finally able to move and stretch his abused muscles. Natasha notices that he's hard again already, cock pressed up against his belly, and she smirks before sitting back down next to Clint again.

"Now spread a little wider, sweetie," Pepper says, lying down and wriggling underneath Tony, who's still kneeling on all fours. There are bruises around his legs where he fought against the spreader bar. "You're going to feel this."

Tony gasps as he realizes what she's doing, shakes his head and closes his eyes and pushes back against Rhodey, who's still fucking him in a steady, even rhythm. Pepper grabs a firm handful of Tony's ass and brings his hips down to meet hers, pushing her slicked-up dick upwards to nudge against Tony's asshole, where Rhodey's still fucking into him.

"Pep, I can't, I can't take it, please," Tony says. "I can't."

Pepper waits a moment, then says, "You can, and you're going to." Steel again, all the sugarpie gone from her voice. Natasha doesn't even hesitate this time, just pushes her fingers down inside of herself and starts up a rhythm, watching the scene unfold in front of her. A moment later, when she remembers to check on the others, she looks up to see Clint, quiescent and snuggled up next to her; Thor and Steve still jerking each other off, blond heads bent together in soft, tender kisses; and Bruce, across the room, watching Natasha as she pushes inside herself.

She gasps, to be seen like this, to have Bruce see how much she loves what she's looking at. Slowly, Bruce trails his hand up his thigh and wraps it around his hard cock, giving himself a slow, firm stroke.

Natasha nods at him, and reaches down with her other hand to rub her clit.

"No," Tony is saying, "no, Pep, please, please, no. I can't take you both at once, please."

Pepper is taking her fingers out of Tony's ass, where she was stretching it alongside Rhodey's dick. She pushes up again with her cock and shoves into him ruthlessly. 

Natasha knows that Tony would use his safeword if he really meant it, but still, she's not sure she could do for him what Pepper and Rhodey are doing now, ignoring his protests and fucking him hard. They're so comfortable together, the three of them.

"Shhh," Pepper says. "Just take it, baby. You want it. You know you do." Tony moans and shudders as Pepper enters him, her dick sliding alongside Rhodey's and making him cry out in pleasure. "Do you feel that? Both of us inside you, now, Tony, I knew you could do it. My sweet little slut." 

Pepper pants and squirms and fucks up into Tony, and Tony buries his face against her collarbone and takes her in, a muffled scream emerging from his throat. She pets his hair, and Rhodey holds him still, and they both keep on fucking him while he cries out.

"You're so gorgeous when you're open like this," Rhodey says, panting. "Taking both of us at once, all stretched and loose."

"Rhodey, Rhodey, no, it's too much – " A desperate, sobbing plea.

"You love it," Rhodey interrupts. "You want us to break you open like this, Tony, you know it." He and Pepper start up a rhythm together, a little shaky at first but then perfectly in sync, the two of them sliding in and out in a perfect counterpoint. "You can't fool us," Rhodey whispers. "We know you."

Natasha sucks in a breath at that, and on the bed Tony does too, his hands spasming against the sheets. Natasha's fingers speed up inside her cunt, pulling at the edges of another orgasm.

"We know every last thing about you," Pepper agrees. Tony is collapsed down onto her, propped on his elbows but otherwise letting her take his weight. She bears it easily. 

"We know you need it," Rhodey says softly. "We're gonna give you what you need, Tony, just let it happen." He's sweating, straining, obviously trying to hold on long enough to make Tony come. Pepper slows when Rhodey does, instinctively matching his pace, and when they both start again it's with a slow roll of the hips that does something to make Tony scream. Natasha wonders how many times they've done this together, to be able to do that, how well these three must know one another. She shoves her hips up, spreading her thighs, pushing her fingers deeper inside herself and rocking up against her clit. She's so close.

Rhodey bends forward to kiss Tony's shoulder, and Pepper leans upward to kiss Tony's mouth, both at the same time.

"No," Tony sobs, his cock leaking precome, slicking all over Pepper's belly. "No."

"Yes," Pepper says, and Tony comes, trembling, for a long time, while Rhodey and Pepper hold on to him, ride him through it until he's panting and shaky with exhaustion. Natasha comes with him, losing herself in it enough that she cries out aloud, letting the feeling surge through her body until she's left panting and slumped against the back of the couch.

Clint puts a hand on her knee reassuringly. Natasha lets herself be steadied by its warm weight against her skin.

Pepper reaches down and slips her dick out of Tony's ass, and Rhodey grips his shoulder hard, snapping his hips forward a few times before coming inside him. Rhodey's toes curl up when he comes, Natasha notices, his feet arching perfectly, the thick muscles of his thighs straining as he groans against Tony's back.

When he's done, Pepper pushes Tony gently off of her and squirms out from under the two of them, while Rhodey goes to sit with Thor and Steve, both of whom are now snuggling in post-coital lassitude. Pepper stays by his side, stroking his back gently, until Bruce comes up to take his turn. 

"We're sure about this? He looks pretty used up," Bruce says doubtfully.

"Green," Tony objects, speaking directly into a pillow. They all laugh.

"You know that may not be the best word for 'go ahead' around me," Bruce chuckles, hauling Tony up roughly by his hips and sliding into his ass in one smooth stroke. Tony huffs out a laugh at this, but stops laughing as Bruce starts screwing him, slow and deep and hard. Tony's been fucked enough by now that he must be sore, must feel the friction of every thrust, but he still takes it. Still wants to take it.

Pepper collapses next to Natasha on the couch, dick still jutting up from her hips. Natasha laughs so hard that she has to turn her face away.

"What? I like it," Pepper says, grinning. She peers over Natasha to look at Clint, who's curled himself up under his blanket and is currently becoming smaller and smaller. "Is Clint sleeping?"

"He tends to conk out after sex," Natasha apologizes, poking Clint in the face repeatedly until he comes to. "And he wakes up far too slowly to be any kind of spy," she says, a little louder, and directly into his ear. 

"M'not a spy. I just shoot things," Clint says, sitting up.

"It's rude to sleep through your friend's gangbang, Clint," Pepper says, laughing again. Natasha smiles; she finds she likes the sound of Pepper's laughter, likes the look of her when she's messed up from fucking.

This time, Natasha puts her hand on Pepper's knee. "Didn't look like you got off, there, fucking your boyfriend," she says.

"I didn't. It takes me a little longer, with this." She gestures at the rig, which pushes the base of the dildo against Pepper's clit, but doesn't vibrate or penetrate at all. Slowly, Natasha trails her hand up Pepper's thigh until she reaches the dildo, then grasps it firmly and gives it a slow pull before pushing it back down against Pepper's cunt.

"Oh," Pepper says. "Oh, very nice." 

In front of them, Bruce is fucking Tony with deep, brutal, slow strokes. He doesn't have Steve's power, or Clint's patience, or Thor's . . . mighty hammer, and while Natasha knows he cares deeply for Tony, he doesn't exhibit any of the love and trust that Pepper and Rhodey did.

What Bruce has to offer, instead, is insight. So as he fucks Tony in that unforgiving rhythm, as Tony bows his head to accept it, Bruce starts talking. 

"You know why they had me go at the end, Tony?" he asks. His hands hold Tony tight, not letting him shift or push back the way the others had. Bruce gives Tony what he's willing to offer, and nothing more.

Tony breathes, and breathes, and doesn't speak.

"Answer me," Bruce says softly.

"No," Tony says.

"Color, Tony," Natasha calls. She's working Pepper faster, fisting up and down her cock, making her spread her legs wider and sigh. Natasha can't decide which one of the two of them she wants to watch more.

"Green," Tony grits out.

"It's because they wanted you nice and stretched, just in case I hulked out in the middle," Bruce says. The effect on Tony is remarkable: his eyes fly open, and his breathing speeds up, and every muscle in his body goes hard and tense.

"Bruce," he says, like the name is all he can think to say.

"That's right, I know about your little fantasy," Bruce laughs. "I know you want me to." He fucks Tony for a few more strokes, holding him still and giving it to him hard. "Do you think you could take it? You were whining about taking Pepper and Rhodey at once, and the Hulk is much – bigger – than – that," he growls, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips.

Tony cries out, jerking like a marionette beneath Bruce's hands.

"I want it," Tony says, slowly like the words have been pulled out of him, "I want it, Bruce, I want you – "

"Maybe I should. Maybe I should let you get a taste of what it would really be like." Slowly, Bruce's hand creeps up Tony's neck until it fists in his hair, pulling him back slightly as Bruce continues to fuck him forward. 

"Please," Tony says, and Natasha wonders if he means it, or if it's all just some elaborate fantasy. She's not sure whether Tony himself could tell, right now.

"Hulk out inside you, my dick pushing your body open – " Bruce says. His words are precise, calculated for the maximum impact, and from the way Tony is moaning, it's working. "And just take you, brutally. Would that finally be enough for you, Tony? Would that be enough dick to finally satisfy you?"

Pepper gasps, her hand scrabbling at Natasha's shoulder as Natasha continues to work her clit. Apparently Pepper gets off on other people calling Tony a slut, as well as doing it herself. Natasha wants very badly to take off the harness and bury her face in Pepper's cunt, but she also can't bear the thought of not seeing this, the careful and easy way Bruce is taking Tony apart.

"Bruce, Bruce, please – " Tony cries, and Natasha thinks he doesn't even know what he's begging for anymore. He's just begging, and trusting Bruce to take care of him. Bruce keeps fucking him with those same slow teeth-rattling strokes, even though in this form he's no super soldier and it must be a lot of work to keep up.

"Begging," Bruce says, spitting the word. "You've had six of us inside you and you're still begging. Captain America, Iron Patriot, the Norse God of thunder, and you still want more."

Natasha gasps aloud. Beside her, Pepper suddenly pushes her hand away, then unfastens the harness and stands to slide it down her hips. Natasha scoots back into the corner of the couch and spreads her legs so that Pepper can nestle down between them, leaning back against Natasha's chest. 

On the other side of the couch, Clint appears to be sleeping again. So long as he's not snoring, Natasha figures.

Once Pepper's situated nicely, Natasha doesn't hesitate. She gets one hand on Pepper's cunt and one on her nipple and goes to work. Pepper's clit is big and round, poking out from the hood; Natasha forks her fingers on either side of it and squeezes lightly, and Pepper moans and squirms in her arms.

In front of them Bruce is still talking, still screwing Tony hard and rough.

"Maybe the Hulk's cock is the only thing that'll shut you up," Bruce says. Tony wails, his dick hard and leaking against his stomach, and he tries to thrust forward into empty air but Bruce holds him still. Natasha works Pepper's clit hard and fast, pinches her nipple, sucks at the place just behind her ear. Pepper's breathing hard, making a series of soft, inarticulate vocalizations that make Natasha suddenly, desperately hot. 

"Bruce, I need to come, Bruce, please, please, please Bruce, let me – "

Bruce laughs coldly. "No," he says, and comes in Tony's ass, groaning loudly and squeezing Tony hard enough that he's going to leave fingerprint bruises. Tony sobs, and takes it, and doesn't come.

Pepper moans and throws her head back, coming against Natasha's fingers and on top of Natasha's body. She shudders, and trembles, pulsing against Natasha's skin, and it's only when she finally stops that Natasha, reluctantly, draws her hand back.

"That was lovely," she whispers into Pepper's ear. Pepper sighs and collapses back against her, a warm, sticky weight.

Meanwhile, Bruce has pulled out, getting rid of his condom and then running a hand through his disheveled hair. He starts to walk back over to the armchair, but then changes direction, going instead to sit next to Rhodey on the couch. Natasha's surprised; usually those two don't say much to one another, given Bruce's feelings about the military and Rhodey's feelings about the Hulk, but now Rhodey takes Bruce's hand in his, and now Bruce rests his head, tentatively, on Rhodey's shoulder, closing his eyes.

Meanwhile, Tony is hard and aching, alone on the bed.

"I think you're up," Pepper says, still out of breath. 

Natasha kisses her – it's easy now, natural to do so – and grabs her equipment.

"Hey Tony," she says, kneeling up behind him. He's a mess, covered in his own sweat and come, mottled with emerging bruises, his asshole wide open and red from hard use. She licks her lips. Curiously, she puts two fingers in his ass, just to feel him. He squirms against her. He's hot inside, and soft.

Behind her, she hears Steve sighing, Bruce saying something low in Rhodey's ear, someone else drinking a bottle of water. She's conscious of their bodies surrounding her, but she's seen them all, now, and they've seen her. She takes her fingers out of Tony's ass and rubs his hip thoughtfully.

"Natasha," Tony pants. "Are you – I can't, how many has it been?"

She slips the dildo inside herself until the curve of it is flush against her clit. She's wet too, and open, like Tony is, ready for this to happen.

"I'm the last." She remembers what Pepper said about the kinds of things Tony likes to hear, and she adds, "You've done really good, Tony, you're almost there." It's not as hard to say as she thought it would be. She runs her hand slowly up his spine, soothing him.

"It's been – a good show," he says, and she smiles, even though he can't see it. Gently, she pushes into his ass. He offers no resistance, just pulls her in, wet and open, ready for more.

"It's not over yet," she says, even though her cunt is already starting to clench around the dildo, setting off waves of sensation throughout her body. She begins to thrust. "And the nice thing about this equipment is, I never have to stop at all."

"Jesus, Nat," Tony slurs. He sounds overcome, filled to the brim with pleasure and flowing over.

"I could fuck you all day," she says evenly. "And, really, I'm sure some of the others are ready for another round. We could keep fucking you for hours yet."

"You'd like that," Tony huffs, and she fucks him a little rougher for the sass, though whether as a punishment or as a reward she's not sure.

"I would," she grits out, quiet and dangerous. 

This, this is her favorite interrogation technique.

"I want to keep you here like this," she says. "I want to have you always open and ready to be fucked." The dildo grinds against her clit on every stroke, rubs hard against her g-spot so that she's shuddering, clenching around it. Tony's beautiful beneath her, still arching and groaning after all this time, still _wanting_ , so badly, to be taken.

Natasha takes him.

"I want you fucked constantly, until it's all you know, all you can think of," she murmurs. "Until it's all you'll ever want. Until you want us inside you constantly. Until you're nothing but need."

Tony cries out, hot and writhing beneath her, shifting uselessly on his abused hands and knees as he tries to push back against her for more.

Natasha fucks him, fucking easily in and out of his body, and waits.

"I want that," Tony says into the silence. His voice is hoarse from screaming, as hoarse as if they really had fucked his throat raw, as well as his ass. "Oh, oh, Nat, god, I want that."

Natasha keeps up the same pace, screwing him hard, driving into him with each thrust of her hips. And she waits.

"I want all of you so much, all the time," Tony moans, and Natasha rewards him, fucking faster. "I need you. I want – this – all – the – time – "

"Yeah," she says. "Tony. Tell me."

"Just want to lose myself," Tony says. "Want to lose myself in all of you, you're all so good, let you fill me up and take me." He pants harshly. " _Keep_ me," he says, on the exhalation of a breath.

The confession hits Natasha so hard that it makes her feel like a bell, struck, ringing in recognition at Tony's words. She digs her fingernails into the skin of his back, trying desperately to hold on against the rush of his voice over her body.

"I, I can trust you," he gasps, letting his head drop down submissively. "Trust you to hold me, hold me – "

"Hold you _down_ ," Natasha finishes. "Hold you still."

"Yes, yes, Natasha, please – "

"I've got you," she says, "I've got all of you." And then, as she starts to come, she says, "There's – there's nothing left of you. Let it all go," and reaches around to take hold of Tony's dick.

Tony screams as she fists his cock, screams and shakes and arches back against her as he comes, as they both come together, Natasha pumping hard into Tony's ass and gripping hard at Tony's shoulders, giving him everything, taking everything, until she collapses, empty and exhausted, against his back.

The room is quiet for a long minute, full of the harsh sound of the two of them breathing together. 

And then there's a round of applause.

Natasha, still boneless and flush against Tony's back, starts to laugh, and laughs harder as Tony collapses down onto the bed, taking her down with him. 

Amid the cheers, she pulls out of Tony's ass, then crawls up his body and puts her mouth next to his ear.

"You want out of the cuffs?" she asks. Tony sighs against the pillow.

"Not yet," he says, eyes closing. She checks his fingers and toes, but they're all still pink and warm. So Natasha shifts around Tony awkwardly until she's pressed to his side, rather than on top of him, stickily skin to skin. After a moment, she reaches out and pets his back.

"Hmmm," Tony says, pushing back into the touch. Natasha, helpless, looks up, and to her relief sees Pepper and Rhodey coming towards them, joining them on the bed. Rhodey nudges Tony until he can sit up with his head on Rhodey's thigh, and Pepper lies along his other side, twining her fingers with Tony's. 

"This was nice," Tony says dreamily. His eyes are still closed, his lips pressed against the skin of Rhodey's thigh. "This was really nice."

"You're so stoned right now," Rhodey says, smiling, as he runs his fingers through Tony's hair.

The bed dips, and Natasha looks up to see Bruce, Thor, and Steve, all crawling up to join the rest of them. Thor, lying on his back near Natasha's feet, lifts Steve effortlessly and places him on top, so that Steve is snuggled against his chest. Steve grins widely, laughs as he's moved, and scratches his five-o-clock shadow against Thor's chest. Bruce scoots up on the other side until he's lying adjacent to Pepper and Tony, his head between her knee and Tony's thigh. Pepper reaches down and tugs lightly at his hair, and he grins.

Over on his couch, Clint looks up sleepily. "Are you guys having a cuddlepile without me?" he asks suspiciously. Natasha smiles over at him.

"Come join us," she says, holding out a hand to him. He comes, blanket wrapped around his neck like a cape, and spoons up behind her, warming her cooling skin.

"So this is pretty gross," he says, noting the wet spots they're lying in.

"Race you to the shower," Rhodey says softly. His fingers are still tangled in Tony's hair, petting and soothing.

It takes them a long time to make it to the shower.

*

Two months later, filling out her yearly SHIELD medical report, Natasha writes "Stark Tower" in the space next to the words "Permanent Address."

**Author's Note:**

> The whole time I was writing this fic, I had [this Canadian PSA from the nineties](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5AuLkMBAFZg) stuck in my head (link goes to youtube). Take that for what you will.
> 
> And I know, I know, this is movieverse fic, and RDJ is five foot eleven only in his sparkliest unicorn dreams. But in the films they usually try to add about three inches to his height, and they pretend that he can go nose to nose with Steve, so I granted them their illusion and pretended that Tony is really five eleven. But like. I know. It's ridiculous.


End file.
